


Tiramisu and Treachery

by unwinding_fantasy



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Akuroku Day 2k17, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And lie. He's good at that., Axel can't cook, Axel's... not a chef, Crushes, Dogs, He can burn lots of stuff though, Humor, Lies, Lying with good intentions, M/M, MasterChef meets Lost In Translation with dogs, Misunderstandings, Nami's an architect, New York City, Romance, Slice of Life, Swearing, Xion's a vet nurse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 19:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11790276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwinding_fantasy/pseuds/unwinding_fantasy
Summary: In which Axel takes credit for Luxord's cooking and Roxas falls for it.





	Tiramisu and Treachery

“You have to see Times Square!” said all his friends. Roxas hadn’t argued. It was in all the movies so why the hell not, and when he showed up he was expecting the big buildings that blasted him with a neon rush, the endless cycle of consume consume consume, the crowds that made him move his wallet from his back pocket into the zip up inside his coat right beside his heart. What he wasn't expecting was Mickey Mouse grabbing his hand, wrangling up all his costumed buddies for a photo then harassing Roxas for tips. _Fuck this place_ , Roxas thought as he rummaged through his wallet for a fiver (his original one dollar offer had been met with wheedling protestations.) It was his own fault for looking like a twelve year old tourist, taking snapshots with his phone to send his friends back home, and from that moment Roxas was switched on, highly attuned to the reality that any kindness he’d find here would come with a cash caveat. Standing outside the TKTS booth, buffeted by the thousand strong crowd, Roxas had never felt so alone. In years to come, that photo – Roxas sandwiched between a Goofy who smelled like beyond-its-use-by brie and a Donald tall enough to play for the Nicks who called Roxas’ eyes pretty – would serve as a constant reminder to never let his guard down. Roxas swore he’d never be conned again.

That was his initiation to New York City, just after Naminé landed her first big project and got set up on 22nd between Park Avenue and Broadway courtesy of her slightly creepy boss. It was an expensive area even by Manhattan standards but she wasn’t footing the bill so there weren’t any downsides. Well, unless you counted the fact that she now lived within spitting distance of a ridiculous building that looked like a diet-sized slice of cake where the bathrooms alternated between male or female depending on what floor you were on. Maybe she hoped that with an architectural disaster in close proximity, any bad ideas that tried to accost her would instead be drawn, magnet-like, into that sinkhole of poor design.

When he vocalised this opinion, Naminé gasped in exaggerated hurt. “It’s the exact opposite,” she insisted as her most recent acquisition, a stray tabby, jumped onto the fold out and curled up on her legs. “The Flatiron Building’s inspirational. It’s an excellent example of what to do with limited space.”

Roxas scratched the cat behind its ears; it purred appreciatively. “But the windows, Nami. There’s nowhere to hide. Can you even take a piss in private?”

Naminé gave him a withering look. “Rude. That poor building’s put up with a lot in its time. Did you know the uninformed peons used to think it would topple right over as soon as there was a breeze?” Roxas snorted, jamming more Skittles and M&M’s (a bizarrely balanced combination they’d discovered in grade school) into his mouth. Adjusting the blanket so her painted purple toes weren’t sticking out, Naminé said, “Just take my professional word for it: it’s an architectural wonder. Now hush and let me ogle David Bowie in peace.”

Roxas shrugged, content to pull faces at the Goblin King’s atrocious codpiece until the credits rolled and his best friend wished him goodnight. And if he wound up contemplating the incongruity of the Flatiron versus his own situation, his thoughts were derailed on his way to the bathroom when the cat playfully swiped his ankles.

* * *

Shame Naminé never lost her do-gooder streak. Not that Roxas lacked compassion – he’d helped rescue a heap of abandoned animals before (and hadn’t it been fun explaining the carpet python to his best friend’s mum?) – but he drew the line here. Drew it with a throbbing hand, the punctured aftermath of a failed attempt to collar the beast Naminé had picked up late last night.

_Axel is fucking rabid_ , Roxas thought as the defiant dog parked his furry butt at the top of the stairs, refusing to enter the subway. Roxas swore. Given the mutt’s penchant for violence, he wasn’t keen on trying to carry the damn thing so he couldn’t do much more than tug on the leash. A stream of people weaved around him. Except one guy, that was, who collided with Roxas’ back hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull. “Fucking tourist,” Roxas’ attacker spat.

Roxas hadn’t been a tourist for at least two years. “Asshole!” he bellowed at the guy’s quickly disappearing form and was rewarded with a middle finger over the shoulder. “This is your fault,” he muttered to the dog.

Thankfully, Axel chose that moment to decide he’d follow Roxas after all and moments later, the plastic seat cool against his palms, Roxas permitted a relieved sigh as the doors slipped shut and the train lurched into motion. He counted down the seconds while Axel stalked around the carriage, tyrannical lord of his own tormented little domain, his subjects studiously averting their gazes in favour of fiddling with their iPods or hunting shiny pixelated creatures. Roxas alone eyed him with the cautious respect he deserved, instinctively clasping his wounded hand when Axel planted himself beside the blonde and curled up with his head close enough to Roxas’ elbow that each menacing exhalation left a moist imprint on Roxas’ skin.

**_Rabid._** Roxas should’ve brought a muzzle.

When he finally entered the clinic, Xion took one look at him and sighed, "Oh Roxas." With an apologetic smile, said blonde kept pulling Axel's leash, but he just dug his paws in harder, craned back and tried wriggling out of his collar like he'd done a couple of blocks earlier, the little shit. "You know I can't keep doing this," Xion said but she gently lured the dog inside with some leather-like treat and propped him on a consultation table (it happened so fast Roxas couldn’t even gasp a warning).

Xion scanned the dog for a microchip, frowning when it came up blank. "You're lucky Vexen's on lunch. Where did you find this one?"

"Um, Canal Street, I think." 

"Does he have a name?"

"Hellhound? No but really, Naminé named him Axel."

Xion's nose crinkled. "Funny, I saw an Axel this morning." She took the dog's temperature. Roxas winced in a fleeting moment of sympathy but if it bothered Axel he gave no sign, content to continue wetly slurping away. 

"Did your Axel also take a chunk out of your hand?"

"Nah, this one was a little more civilised. You wouldn't know it to look at him though. Shabby clothes, hair like woah. He brought in this dog that looked even scruffier than him. To be honest, I was surprised he could pay." She gave him a sidelong glance. "Want me to patch up that hand? I might only be a vet nurse but you're close enough to an animal anyway."

Roxas was only half listening, too busy shifting from foot to foot as he wondered how long they had before Xion's boss returned. Her eyes flicked up and assessed him over Axel, who was still obliviously gnawing the treat. "Hey, don't stress. I'm pretty sure he went to get his hair done."

Roxas sniggered. "Discount Fabio, at it again." Xion hummed in agreement as she checked the thermometer. "Anyway, I don't care about him. I'm meant to pick up a cake for Naminé‘s birthday thing and at this rate they're gonna sell out." He glared at the dog. 

"Roxas, you mean to tell me your childhood sweetheart, your other half, your best friend in the entire universe is turning 21 and you didn't even order a cake?" Xion brandished the thermometer dangerously close to Roxas' nose, making him crane his head back to avoid being force-fed Axel's breakfast. 

"Ugh, you make it sound so sappy. Me and Nami are friends. **_Friends_**. Besides, it's her fault I'm here and not at the bakery. Now can we hurry with the worming and stuff?"

Xion snorted but she did pick up the pace, deftly administering a worming tablet and two vaccinations (Axel yelped; Roxas felt the tiniest measure of glee) before finally waving Roxas out the door. "So should I swing round earlier to help set up?"

"Sure. You can keep Sir Bites-a-lot off my tail."

"Sounds good." Xion's face suddenly went white. Roxas glanced over his shoulder and saw a man with long hair the colour of dilute pee briskly approaching. "Shit," Roxas muttered just as the opening of Vexen's irate tirade assailed his ears. "Gotta run. Good luck!"

* * *

It was rush hour by the time Roxas arrived at the bakery, injured hand aching like a bitch, Axel trotting merrily behind him. He frowned at the queue snaking out the door and halfway down the block. _Goddammit._ This place was always busy on Fridays when they revealed a new creation. By the time he reached the front, the cabinet's offerings were pretty lean and Roxas' heart plummeted somewhere to the vicinity of his socks. 

"Next guest please." Maybe a cake would materialise if he stared hard enough? Roxas’ gaze bored into the cinnamon buns and vanilla cupcakes that were everybody’s last choice while he wondered what special kind of hell was reserved for people who failed to buy their best friends birthday cakes.

"Next on line, please!" Roxas started at the voice, which rang with poorly concealed contempt, and stepped up. The cashier barely spared him a glance, engrossed in re-stocking the till. "What can I get you?"

"Uh," Roxas said.

"Very articulate but you'll have to be more specific. We're closing and I've gotta cut down a line that’s longer than the Great Wall." The guy bashed a roll of coins on the side of the bench, eyebrows drawn together in a ferocious crease, teeth bared in a way that Roxas associated with rabid dogs. The guy clearly wasn’t built for customer service.

A muscle in Roxas’ jaw twitched. “Do you have any proper cakes? Like, for a birthday?”

The guy – nametag _Axel_ , and wasn’t that fucking ironic – gestured at the cabinet. “We have literally two options left. You want the guided tour?”

The words slammed straight into the spot reserved for Chinese water torture, burrowing into Roxas’ brain. He felt his hackles rise. Axel frowned at the change, eyes narrowing to slits before widening in comprehension. “The kid from the station!” he breathed, all trace of smart-assery vanished as he really looked at Roxas. Whatever he saw made him drag his lower lip into his mouth, uncertainty sparking in his gaze.

On one level, the sudden chagrin was heartening. On another, Axel was still an aggressive douchebag who, after approximately eighty-six seconds of interaction with, Roxas hated. “Yeah,” the blonde asserted, jutting out his chin. The only thing stopping his twitching fingers from balling up and decking the fucker was his chomped hand. And his aversion to landing himself in prison, and the fact that he didn’t want to get lifetime banned from the best bakery in town. And he really needed a cake. That too. “Yeah…” he huffed.

Axel went to run his hand through his hair, a violent shade of red that definitely violated workplace grooming codes, but came up short when he encountered his baker’s hat. He scratched a freckle on the side of his neck instead. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came across as a bit of a prick. Bad day. I know that’s no excuse but it’s all I can offer.”

_Or is it?_ The thought lanced across Roxas’ brain. It was brilliant. It was flawless. It was a way to save his sorry keister. “That so?” He folded his arms. “Well, I call bullshit. If you’re really sorry, there’s something better you can do.”

Axel leaned against the counter, drawling, “Oh?” The lazy demeanour was belied by the intensity of his stare.

Roxas swallowed. _Please, god, let this work_. He plastered a smirk on his face, trying to channel a confidence he didn’t feel. “How about… an apology cake.”

Axel’s mouth warped. “I already told you, we’re sold out.”

“So? You can bake, right?” Roxas pressed.

“Well…”

As the Axel behind the counter opened his mouth, probably to offer some lame excuse, the Axel at Roxas’ feet barked precisely three times. The redhead’s eyebrows lifted. When he peered down his expression softened and Roxas nearly keeled over at the sliver of humanity. _Guess even grade A assholes have souls._

“Well, if this little dude insists, I guess I can whip up something.”

* * *

Axel buttoned and unbuttoned the top of his shirt for the fifth time since arriving at the Crown Heights address the blonde had texted him. _Roxas_. He wasn’t sure why he cared. He didn’t care really, having anticipated going home to sob into his pillow rather than delivering a tiramisu that probably tasted like shit, meaning his night would end miserably either way. Considering he was less _MasterChef_ and more _Kitchen Nightmares_ , Axel probably should’ve asked his flatmate to make one instead. Luxord, AKA The Only Reason Axel Hadn’t Yet Dissolved Into a Pile of Sodium, was a bonafide cooking maestro but asking for his expertise had seemed like cheating.

At least he’d warned Roxas he’d never made a tiramisu before so hopefully he was prepared, Axel thought, buzzing the brownstone’s doorbell. Light and laughter streamed down from the windows upstairs along with chillstep at a comfortable level. The door flung open.

“Axel Two!” Roxas chirped. A rosy flush suffused his cheeks, easy smile sprawled on his lips. _Shit,_ Axel thought. The way Roxas gawped at his hair (impressed, Axel hoped) was something else but Axel was used to that. He swallowed, parroted, “Axel Two?”

A barking furry mass exploded out of the apartment and zipped around his legs. Roxas laughed. _Laughed_. Axel near about keeled over from shock. “Yup. The original and the best is currently chewing your shoes.”

Axel looked at the dog, which tilted its head at him and blinked. Call it fate, call it karma, but what were the odds of an angel-faced blonde stumbling into his life with a dog bearing Axel’s name just after he’d lost his own special little guy? If that wasn’t a sign from beyond the grave, Axel would subject himself to trashy TV with his roommates for the next decade. A wad of jumbled emotions balled in his throat as he leaned down to hide his face under the guise of rubbing behind the dog’s ears, which set its tail wagging manically. “Should I be offended?” Axel asked, smiling a little at the way the dog nosed his hand when he stopped scratching.

“’s his fault you’re here.”

Before Axel could ask, a slight blonde girl appeared in the doorway. "You must be Axel." ("Axel Two," Roxas grumped but the girl pretended she hadn't heard.) Her gold-white dress shone in the light pooling out the door, giving her an incandescent glow. Her eyes were kind. Axel instantly liked her.

Axel smiled the particularly winning smile he reserved for the best friends of potential romantic partners. "Naminé, right? Got a present for you," he hefted the cake. "A little spiky-headed birdie told me you've got a weakness for tiramisu so if it's no good you can blame him."

Uncomprehending, Roxas frowned. “What birdie?”

Axel raised his eyebrows. "How much has he had?" 

The corners of Naminé‘s eyes crinkled with fondness. "Too much. He got roped into a drinking game and came off second best."

"I always lose," Roxas griped.

"Only because you have the worst poker face in the history of the world." Naminé lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "He acts tough but beneath the hundred layers of snark and hair gel he's actually a huge marshmallow. Case in point: that dog bit him this morning and look at them now."

The dog was sprawled in Roxas' arms, eyes slitted in ecstatic content as Roxas rubbed his belly, something that could only be described as a full-blown grin plastered on his mouth. Axel, warmth blossoming behind his rib cage, couldn't suppress his own smile. If anyone asked him later, he’d say that was when it happened.

Naminé waved them inside, "Come on, you lot. Axel, could you put the cake over there? Thank you so much for bringing it, by the way. You should stay and have a piece. Roxas told me you had to work overtime to get it done so it’s only fair you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor. I’ve got some candles over here. There’s heaps of food and there’s drinks in the bathtub…”

And that was how Axel got smashed seven ways to Sunday on amaretto sours with an unhealthy dose of nachos on the side. “To soak up the alcohol,” one of Naminé’s friends had insisted. Axel knew it didn’t work that way but after his vet, of all people, had appeared apologising for running late, holding him carefully with her blue gaze like he was blown glass, all Axel’s memories had flooded back. He’d needed the drinks and dirty food. On the other hand, Roxas seemed to get less drunk as the night wore on, which lead Axel to categorise him as Responsible. Not a bad thing considering Axel’s track record.

“An _air conditioner?_ I thought that only happened in movies.” Roxas, flicking his cigarette, shoulders hunched against the cold bite of night time. They’d retreated while the others played some strange variation of Fuck, Marry, Kill with fictional characters, Axel adamant he couldn’t choose between Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse and Goofy.

Axel stretched his legs out. “Not one of my finer moments but what can I say? I was young and impressionable and my idiot cousin knew how to tempt me. When my mum found out she’d raised a felon, she managed to not die of a conniption and shipped me east to Cooperstown to live with my old man instead. And from there,” he gestured vaguely. “Well, I was always shit at stealing anyway. Had to learn to live like everyone else.”

The cloud Roxas exhaled eddied around them. “You sold your soul to the Big Apple.” Inhale, exhale. The sound was almost rhythmic. “Like me.” He passed over the cig and Axel pressed it to his lips without a thought, like they’d always been sitting on this stoop trading histories, like he’d always gravitated towards half-realised hard asses with a soft spot for dogs.

Axel took a drag, said, “I didn’t mean for it to pan out this way. When you’re a kid, they tell you if you work hard enough you can do anything. Travel the world, buy that McMansion, drive that two door that costs twice as much as a regular car and’s only half as practical. They flash all these fancy things in your face and try to convince you you want them. But do they tell you that working yourself to the bone for minimum wage won’t get you anything?” He hazarded a sidelong look at the blonde. “You know those dipping birds that keep going in for more but when they stand up again they’re in exactly the same place? That’s me. I am the bird. That is my life.”

Roxas was quiet for a long moment. Axel wondered if he’d said something unequivocally stupid, if the words only made sense to his liquor-sodden mind. His mouth did have a bad habit of running him, after all. The silence stretched, Axel contemplating how his conversational skills weren’t always a boon, until Roxas spoke. “I only moved here because Naminé did, and the only reason she’s here is because architecture isn’t exactly a booming field back home. She actually has talent enough to make it though, even if it means moving home every couple of years. I’m just her hanger-on.”

“So why’d you come here?”

“I dunno. Path of least resistance or something.” Roxas stared at the stars and Axel, assessing the way the streetlights washed over the other’s skin, wondered about inertia and objects in motion. “I thought being surrounded by people would make me feel… less alone, or some bullshit. Couldn’t wait to get out of the small town I spawned in.” Roxas’ voice dropped, rasping a little from the smoke. “What did I know? It’s like my alienation increases exponentially with population.”

As far as 2AM conversations went, this was pretty normal. Last he’d checked though it was barely pushing 10. Axel stared at the blonde boy, who drew his knees to his chest and stared out into the street, a million miles away and counting. When he handed back the cig, Roxas started, a sheepish smile slinking onto his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be a killjoy.”

Axel shook his head. “Not your fault. I have a knack for the maudlin.”

“Yeah but I was meant to,” Roxas waved the cig, tracing glowing patterns in the air as he searched for words, “make you smile and laugh and whatever. So sorry.”

“…The vet told you, huh.” The pity tinging the blonde’s gaze was confirmation enough. “No problem-o, Roxa-roony. This moment we’re having? Consider it had.” Roxas gave him a look that was so achingly understanding that Axel’s heart hurt. _He’s not buying it._ Axel sighed. “It’s okay, really. I’m okay.”

“Like I’d believe that,” Roxas said, softly so there was no sting in the words. They sat in companionable silence until the cig burned down to the filter.  Roxas dusted himself off as he stood and crushed it underfoot. “Thanks for making that cake. And for bringing it all the way here even though I was a jerk and you probably feel like shit.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t.

“No sweat.”

The night rolled on and Axel only felt marginally guilty for not ripping his hair out in a fit of grieving. Overall, he felt okay, watching everyone wolf down his tiramisu. Capable. Or he did, right up until the moment he was sidling away to raid the fridge for something not coffee flavoured while everybody else was distracted by his vet’s story about her boss who sounded like a pedantic nutjob. He stopped short at Naminé’s voice drifting from the kitchen. The words were soft but clear. “Um… Well, it… wasn’t the best.”

Axel’s stomach swooped in premonition. There was a heavy sigh, then, “Be honest. I can take it.” Roxas’ light timbre was unmistakable.

Naminé cleared her throat. “The _honest_ truth? It’s horrible. What did he put in here, an entire jar of extra strength instant coffee?”

The awful feeling in Axel’s stomach metastasized to his chest. When Roxas said, “I’m really sorry, Nami,” he sounded crestfallen and it was this above all else that made Axel want to crawl into a hole and sleep the millennium away. As he turned to leave, his foot caught and he staggered into the doorframe, the pointy edge catching his shoulder at the angle for maximum pain. A bitter, “Fuck,” slipped from his mouth.

Roxas materialised by his side. “Axel Two? You okay?” Behind the blonde, Naminé shuffled, blushing faintly, and for one spiteful moment Axel was glad she felt uncomfortable.

Axel was about as okay as month old Chinese takeout but rather than admit it, he tried brushing it off. “Yeah, just ran into the door like a moron. Do those sours pack a punch or what?” He rubbed his arm, grimacing at how tender it felt, and glanced down when he felt a nudge. Tongue lolling from his mouth, Dog Axel was staring up at him expectantly. A tug rope toy lay haphazardly not far from where the redhead had stumbled.

Axel’s gaze zeroed in on the toy. The same kind that was lying on his kitchen floor back home. The same kind his dog had loved. Why this particular thing set him off was anyone’s guess but the memories battered him ruthlessly so that as the last drink settled around his heart and squeezed, he barely registered Naminé scolding the dog. Through a watery gaze he saw Roxas blanch and quickly murmur something about putting the dog away, throwing one last pity-tinged look over his shoulder as he retreated. Axel didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel mortified though. "I'm sorry, I'll just go now," he babbled.

Naminé’s cool hand wrapped around his wrist. "Please don't. I, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Axel clenched his teeth. Blinked back his shame. He wasn't angry, not at her at least. He was just pissed he'd messed up, that everything he touched turned to shit, and sure it was probably the thousand amaretto sours talking but he could feel his own pathetic-ness right to the tips of his hair. "It’s fine. Horrible’s one of the kinder things people’ve said about my food." He extricated himself from her hold. 

Two quick swipes at his traitorous eyes and he was halfway to the door when Naminé called, "That doesn’t make it right. Chefs need constructive criticism, not a bunch of rude remarks. ”

_But I'm not a chef._ The reminder made his anger spike. Some sadistic corner of his brain, loudly demanding he listen to how gut churning his cooking was, gave him pause. “Okay then, here’s your chance.” He spread his arms, adopting a mocking drawl. “What exactly was wrong with it? Was the cream overwhipped? The sponge too dense? Was it less a decadent dessert and more a triple shot of espresso with a Kahlua kick?”

Naminé’s mouth twisted in a grimace. Point blank, she couldn’t bring herself to criticise him. Axel snorted. _Big fucking surprise._ He saw Roxas slipping out of another room, disappointed blue eyes skirting Axel’s face, and Axel figured this was it. This was the part where he fessed up. Why not? It was all fucked anyway. 

But… 

"It was a little strong, that’s all,” Naminé said. “Was it a new recipe?"

He should’ve but he didn’t want to be forever known as Weepy Firecrotch with the Ass-Passing Dessert among Roxas’ circle of friends. Whether it was to nurture his wounded ego or leave a better impression or just to inhibit the lurking tears, Axel stepped off the precipice and turned up the charm. “Yeah, my coffee fiend flatmate suggested it. Can’t believe it tastes this rotten though. Let me make it up to you sometime? I make a mean cheesecake. Or savoury stuff. Or both. I can do dinner and dessert. Hell, I can do an entire fucking smorgasbord. Name your day and I’ll whip you up a feast, you and Roxas.”

…Axel _really_ hated his mouth sometimes.

* * *

Luxord has had it up to here with his abominable accounting job. His boss is a jumped up cretin with a lucky surname, his colleagues are certifiable morons who don’t immediately equate “BS” with “balance sheet” and the new guy keeps hitting on him even after being explicitly told Luxord was married to a woman. End of financial year was the absolute worst, Luxord forced to endure twelve hour days correcting everyone else's mistakes while simultaneously fending off romantic propositions (and who the hell takes somebody to Starbucks on a date anyway?) Even his preferred retreat into the kitchen has been put on the backburner, the tiredness seeping into his joints until so much as lifting a wok is an effort. Luxord wants nothing more than to get out of this suit, grab a bottle of scotch and curl up on the couch watching Jersey Shore, taking a swig each time gratuitous cleavage is involved. If his wife actually comes home tonight, the hate sex will be mind-blowing. 

What Luxord gets is an acrid stench that may have originated in the kitchen but has now permeated the entire apartment, which can only mean one thing. 

"I thought we agreed: no more cooking unsupervised!"

The voice cut through the carnage. Axel dropped the spoon into the pot, wincing as boiling water splashback connected with his bare forearms, blinking away smoke-induced tears. The shady silhouette of Luxord was barely visible at the doorway where he was probably plotting Axel's demise.

"I thought we agreed you were gonna be out tonight!" Axel retorted as he checked the stove clock. His chest contorted in an Academy Award winning imitation of a heart attack. Roxas was due in half an hour and Axel was about to serve up the culinary equivalent of reading aloud in fifth grade biology and saying “orgasm” instead of “organism”.

"This is the first time I've finished before 8 all month and you want me to go out?" Luxord’s voice dripped incredulity. Axel’s response was to swear creatively and dump a burned out pot in the sink. The hot metal sizzled satisfyingly as it hit the water. Luxord merely raised an eyebrow as he made quick work of shucking off his jacket before rooting around the liquor cabinet. 

Tone brooking no argument, Axel said, "I need the place tonight."

"Why?" The clinking of bottles ceased as Luxord put two and two together. Axel could practically hear the sharkish grin. "Wait, you've got a date?"

Despite the kitchen looking like the ass end of Tartarus, a smile flashed on Axel’s face. "Yeah."

"You, Axel Spence, have a date? An actual date with something that's not your hand? An actual date with an actual person? A _date_ date?"

A concerning cloud of black smoke began billowing out of the fry pan. "Yes, I have a date, and you're being extremely unhelpful so could you please clear the fuck out?"

Luxord popped the top off a beer and peered over Axel’s shoulder. “And what is this culinary disaster?”

Axel frowned. “Chicken parmigiana?”

“Before or after it locked itself in the solarium?”

“Fuck’s sake, Lux, can you give me a hand or are you just gonna snipe all night?”

To Axel’s surprise, Luxord looked like he was actually considering it. He began stroking his beard (and it was a testament to how strung out Axel was that he didn’t mock him for the supervillain gesture). A pregnant pause then, “Fine.”

Axel’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. If anyone could save this situation, it was Luxord. The Gastronomy Gods were on his side after all. “Serious?”

“Just this once,” Luxord said because if Larxene came back to a home cooked meal, the sex would be even better. 

* * *

“Just this once” became precisely thirteen times but how could Roxas have anticipated the deception? It was a narrow thing that he actually wound up attending Axel’s dinner party after Naminé piked out. In the end, the only reason he’d decided to risk it was because it was better than being bored out of his skull when Xion came over for a girls’ night of mud masks and snore-inducing rom-coms.

(“You should go,” Naminé had insisted. “I know he invited us both but he clearly has eyes only for you.”

“But I don’t even know the guy. What if his cooking’s as shitty as his tiramisu? What if I get food poisoning? What if he’s an _axe murderer?”_

“Well then I guess you’ll get axe murdered,” which was the mark of a true friend really, but did little to placate Roxas’ squirming tension.)

“Hello, Axel Two,” he said, enjoying the way the redhead perked up before ushering him inside the basement level apartment. The impact was immediate, an amazing aroma filling Roxas’ nose and rocketing right to his head. Any lingering regrets he might’ve been harbouring flew out the window. If the food tasted half as good as it smelled Naminé was seriously missing out.

“Roxas.” Said blonde must've been drooling because the smirk on Axel's face as he lilted, "Like something you see?" made Roxas want to kick him where it mattered. It was Naminé’s fault for bailing. Surely Axel wouldn’t be overtly pervy in the company of a lady.

"Something I smell, more like. What is that?" Roxas followed his nose to the kitchen where he emitted an excited yelp. "You really do cook!"

Axel offered a lopsided smile as he carded a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head. Modesty sat weirdly on him but Roxas figured maybe it was to do with his professional life. Lots of customers must praise his food so it made sense that Axel had to learn to be gracious. "So what is it?" Roxas probed, bending over the pan until his nose was practically part of the dish, inhaling deeply.

"’It’ is nearly ready. Why don't you take a seat while I dish up?"

Roxas let Axel steer him to the table decorated with woven placemats and bronze candles ringed by coloured glass that reminded him of that documentary on Thailand's temples. Axel hummed while he plated up and deposited a generous bowl of stir fry before the waiting blonde, taking a seat across from him to watch with thinly veiled nerves. _Like he has anything to worry about,_ Roxas thought. He breathed deep, eyes sliding closed as coriander and galangal and lemongrass filled his lungs. When he stopped swooning and started paying attention again, Axel was perched rigidly in his seat, looking about ready to snap his chopsticks in half. "Try it," he urged.

He did. 

A delightful symphony of salty and sweet exploded in Roxas' mouth, the undercurrent of heat from the chilies activating his saliva glands and setting his tastebuds tingling. It tasted good. No, _great._ Momentarily forgetting his audience, Roxas started shovelling down strands of perfectly seasoned noodles to an imagined heavenly chorus, the divine flavour enveloping every inch of his mouth. When he finally paused, he noticed Axel watching intently for any sign of disgust as if Roxas hadn't just wolfed the majority of the meal in under a minute. 

Roxas gulped, feeling his cheeks warm under the scrutiny. "It's really good," he said. Even the slight charred note of the succulent beef strips mingled perfectly with the rest. 

Axel's relief was palpable. Despite looking like he'd narrowly avoided border control confiscating his contraband, he slapped on a smirk. "Only 'really good'? And here I thought you were college educated." 

Roxas rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mr Michelin, it tastes fucking amazing. How did you get the meat so tender without destroying the crispness of the veggies? And that peppery taste, what is that?"

Axel tapped his temple. "Chef's secret."

“Holy basil,” came a voice from behind him. Roxas swivelled in his chair. A bearded blonde man was leaning against the doorjamb, the hint of a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. “It’s practically impossible to find in store so we grow it ourselves. I’m Luxord, the roommate.”

“Roxas, the friend.” It was mildly alarming how easily the phrase rolled off his tongue given Roxas’ poor friend-making track record. Given the way Axel was suddenly emanating nerves like radiation, Roxas wasn’t sure it was the right thing to have said.

“And how are you enjoying the meal, friend Roxas?”

“Delicious,” Roxas answered. “Don’t know how he did it. I feel kinda bad he went to so much effort.”

Luxord waved a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t hard. How did you do it again, Axel?”

Almost inconspicuously, Axel’s eyes narrowed. “I pretty much just chucked everything in the pan and fried it up. Couple of veggies, some beef, tofu for the hipsters playing at home. It’s a super quick recipe.” He swirled his egg noodles, gaze sliding past his flatmate and falling to Roxas, who took a pull of his beer instead of watching the way Axel expertly plucked a strip of meat and popped it between his lips.

Luxord’s mouth quirked. Roxas looked from one to the other. He was getting this edging feeling that he was missing something. Axel spoke around his food. “I think I heard Larxene come in, by the way.”

“Yes, I was just going to grab some of your amazing stir-fry for her. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Knock yourself out.” Axel enunciated the syllables in a way that made Luxord snort.

Once Luxord had divvied up some food ( _two_ bowls, Roxas noticed, which was pretty damn rude for somebody whose only contribution was to annoy the cook) and vacated the area, Roxas said, “What’s that guy’s deal?”

The guarded look now gone, Axel shrugged. “He gives me shit all the time. Try not to take him seriously though. This is a man who married a psychopath after losing a bet, after all.”

“Um, what?”

“Yeah, it was only last week. Gathering of friends, pizzas and beers and board games, the regular sort of crap. We’d had a few. Lux is a betting man, which works in his favour ninety-nine percent of the time but when he gets drunk…” Axel waved his chopsticks, noodles and all, in a circular motion which Roxas took to mean “all sorts of weird shit goes down”. “So here we are, playing _Uno_ , of all things, and the bets have been getting progressively more outlandish all night. One minute Larxene’s all, ‘Play that Draw 4 and you die,’ then someone chimes in with, ‘Well, if Lux loses, you have to marry him,’ and of fucking course Luxord thought that was the funniest shit so he immediately jumped on it. Hell, even Larx was cackling like a maniac. And because it was way too good an opportunity to pass up, everybody started ganging up on him.”

Roxas, whose chopsticks lay abandoned across his bowl, had no idea to respond. Was this legit? Even if it wasn’t, he wanted to know how the tale ended. “So he lost and…?”

“And we went to the nearest marriage registry, stinking of napoli and Natty Light, and Larxene and Luxord tied the knot.” Roxas snickered. Axel’s smile lit up his entire face as he tacked on, “We had the reception at Arby’s,” by which point Roxas was howling with laughter. Axel chuckled alongside him, looking entirely too pleased that he’d elicited such a heartfelt reaction.

When their mirth finally subsided to a few hiccupped snorts on Roxas’ part, Axel said, “Glad you got a kick out of that one. There’s plenty more where that came from, trust me.” He pointed to Roxas’ bowl, which had remained untouched for a full ten minutes of hilarity. “Want me to microwave that for you?”

“Nah, it’s still warm.” As if to prove it, Roxas popped some egg into his mouth. “This ‘plenty more’ stuff though, I’d like some of that.”

“Yeah? I’ve got enough material for hours. Days, even.”

Chewing thoughtfully, Roxas said, “Guess we’ll have to hang out some more then.” His eyes flickered up to meet Axel’s and even though part of him wanted to keep the contact fleeting, Roxas was pinned. He tried to fight the blush off his cheeks but it was a losing battle, caught in the crosshairs of Axel’s delighted smile, the kind of thing that could redeem the worst Monday.

* * *

Next Wednesday was pasta bake swimming in rich red sauce peppered with olives and feta, the acidity of the tomatoes undercut by the sweet caramelised onions. The Monday after was ramen, a simple dish at first glance but the depth of flavour of the broth indicated Axel had worked from scratch, utilising proper _kombu_ and _bonito_ rather than instant _dashi_ powder, the exquisite umami permeating every noodle. Friday was chicken _karai_ with _paratha_ so buttery that Roxas actually squirmed, flakes of dough melting in his mouth, tastebuds zinging with the curry's ginger and garam masala and green chilies. 

It was the mouth-watering food that kept him coming back, Roxas told himself. Then it was the interesting conversation. Then it was Axel's fiery wit and dramatic stories that Roxas suspected were exaggerations about 70% of the time but why let the truth ruin a good thing, Axel nearly knocking over his bottle of Brooklyn lager as he described the wolverine with the frilly knickers for a headdress he'd found in his ex’s trashcan? Each time Roxas entered another circle of culinary heaven, he’d greet the redhead with an, “Axel Two,” that would make Axel smile and shake his head.

Before long, Axel felt like a friend, a proper friend who made Roxas feel slightly less alone in this ravenous city where the Daily Grind was a shitty blend that Roxas didn’t want. It was only when he started waking up literally every day with Axel on his mind (or lower) that Roxas realised he was elbows-deep in a crush of tsunami proportions and he was helpless as a one palm tree island in its wake. He thought he was doing an okay job of hiding his baser instincts but the fact that he’d recently taken up residence on cloud nine wasn’t lost on his friends, as evinced by Xion’s sneak attack:

"Have you asked him out yet?"

Roxas choked on water, his third glassful since he’d arrived at the clinic after Dog Axel had peed on a motorcycle and its frightening dreadlocked owner had chased them five blocks. Xion calmly observed him over the top of the dog's wagging tail, sighing, "Guess that's a no."

Roxas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why would I do that?"

Xion rolled her eyes. "Um, because you're in love with him?”

Instinct demanded Roxas protest but he stopped himself. What was the point in denying it? He thought of how he'd unconsciously catalogued all the ways Axel smiled: the sly one when he discovered Roxas used to tack boy band posters on his bedroom walls; the quivering one when he was suppressing laughter at some ludicrous situation that had pissed Roxas off but in hindsight was actually kind of funny; the secretive one when they played cards and nobody could tell if he was bluffing. And Roxas' favourite, the slow one that overtook his features for no discernible reason when he was listening to Roxas relate something utterly mundane. The sunrise smile. 

Roxas shrugged. Saying, “He makes me feel less alone in this shitty world” sounded corny even in his head so he settled on a surly, “I guess.” Xion glared; Roxas sighed. “Okay, yes, I like him. Happy?”

Xion folded her arms. “No. You still haven’t done anything about it.” Even though they were the same height, she gave the impression of looking down her nose at him.

Roxas however wasn’t cowed. “I’m waiting for the right chance,” he said.

Xion muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Typical.” Roxas let it slide, watching as she finished with Axel’s boosters and rewarded his good behaviour with a thorough full body rub, which sent Axel’s tail helicoptering in bliss. It was impressive how the dog had wormed his way into Roxas and Naminé ‘s life in a mere six months. Impressive, and what the hell did Xion know about human Axel anyway? Axel and Roxas were the same: capitalist slaves who couldn’t afford a trip across country let alone anywhere more exotic. Axel was gonna be here forever. And besides, though they frequently shared phone conversations into the grey hours of morning, Roxas wasn’t sure if there really was anything worth pursuing. Of course, Axel flirted with him but Axel flirted with every man, woman and their imaginary friends all the time. In fact, if the blonde really thought about it, Axel flirted the least with him. Surely that was cause for concern.

The more he pondered, the more factors that could complicate his friendship with Axel flourished until by the time he was heading out the door, Roxas was thoroughly convinced he would never ever give voice to his romantic inclinations, content to bask in Axel’s light second-hand minus the second-guessing.

“Roxas?” Xion’s tone was warm but her words made Roxas shiver. “You can hide your heart all you want but sometimes you’ve gotta risk some pain to get to the best stuff. And sometimes you have to meet people halfway. Don’t keep them waiting forever.”

* * *

Which was why, on Axel’s day off, Roxas wound up at Axel’s apartment with a tiramisu cake clutched between his numbing hands. At least Naminé had helped with that. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep warmth circulating without dropping his sweet offering. Whether he was cold due to the weather or some weird trick of nerves was up for debate – after all, he could be lighting the fuse that would implode his friendship with the most incredible human being he’d ever met or he could be moments away from having his feelings reciprocated. Both ideas were, quite frankly, terrifying.

Roxas tried to control his breathing. Focusing on the present, that was meant to help ground you, right? He thought he’d read that once. He started concentrating on the way his toes cramped against his slightly-too-small Vans, the sound of the traffic trundling along the main road at the end of the block, the smell of burning wood in somebody’s fireplace…

…Wait.  
  
Roxas furrowed his eyebrows, took another deep breath through his nose. That was not the ashy odour of firewood. It was a bitter, burned-out _stench_ , the kind Roxas experienced that one time he’d put rice on the stove and forgot about it. The kind that made thick, dark smoke curl out of the window of Axel’s apartment and under the door.

Roxas’ heart leaped. “Shit,” he said. He pounded on the door, uncaring of the pins and needles that lanced up his arm, and tried the doorknob. No good. “Ax! Hey Ax, you okay!” More frantic banging. A huge nasty-looking cloud billowed out from beneath the door. _“Axel!”_ Nothing. ”Shit!” Roxas hissed. Awkwardly clasping the cake beneath one arm, he tried to force the door. Once. Twice. He moved back as far as the landing would permit and barrelled towards the barrier, bracing himself for the impact.

He had a microsecond during which the door flew open and Axel’s ashy, surprised face was visible amongst the swirling blackness, then Roxas was kissing the floor.

“Holy shit!” Axel’s eyes were like two large egg whites in a blackened frypan. “Roxas, what are you doing here?”

Roxas, whose head felt like an overfilled water balloon, emitted a low pained noise and rolled onto his back. His lip was stinging. “You. Rescuing you,” he groaned, gingerly bringing his hand to his mouth. It came away bloody.

Axel made a choking sound between pent-up anxiety, exasperation and relief. Roxas couldn’t work out which of these were applicable to him. “I’m fine, you idiot, just had a bit of an incident in the kitchen.” He crouched beside the blonde, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do.

Roxas sat up and rubbed his head, noticing too late that his hands were smeared with cake. “The smoke,” he said. A glob of cream slid down his forehead and onto his nose. The tiramisu had been completely squashed to the point where most of it had oozed out of its cling wrap covering and taken up residence down the front of Roxas’ clothing. He supposed he should be grateful he’d only used a plastic plate to transport it. Nevertheless, his heart took a running swan dive as he realised all that hard work was literally crushed.

Axel pointed to an overturned deep baking dish. The remnants of charred penne were barely discernible amongst the wreckage, the odd mangled tube distributed chaotically across the entryway. _A pasta massacre_ , Roxas thought as Axel explained, “It was meant to be for you. Guess the oven was too high. I was trying to get it outside because Luxord’s always complaining about the burned smell getting into the furniture and if he finds out I’ve been cooking again he’ll string me up by my coin purse.”

Roxas blinked. The fuzziness was clearing. “What do you mean, again? You always cook.”

Somehow, despite every exposed inch of Axel’s skin being slightly sooty, Roxas clearly saw him pale. “Er…” Axel’s hand travelled to that freckle on his neck he always scratched when he was nervous.

“The truth, Axel.”

Axel’s mouth clicked shut. He glanced from the ruined food to Roxas’ face to the kitchen to Roxas again where he finally heaved a sigh. “You won’t like it.”

“Try me,” Roxas bit, suspicion skyrocketing.

So Axel relayed his version of their encounter at the bakery, how impressed he’d been at Roxas’ tenacity, how obvious it was that Roxas would do anything for people he loved. He talked about how his heart had twisted when he saw Roxas’ dog, who looked too similar to his own dog, his beloved pet of fifteen years who’d been euthanised only hours before. He talked about trying to replicate one of Luxord’s tiramisu recipes, about accidentally adding coffee granules rather than the “one and a half cups of strong coffee” the recipe actually specified.

“And when I ruined your best friend’s birthday with the worst dessert in the galaxy, I felt horrible. Like, the absolute worst. Like scum-of-the-century worst. I wanted to make it up to you but all my attempts just ended in disaster. So this one night I’m destroying these chicken parmigianas and Luxord waltzes in and what do you know, he actually offers to help. So I took it. What else was I meant to do? You were gonna be there any moment!”

“But… you’re a chef.”

Axel hung his head and sighed. “I just work the register, Rox. They make us wear the hats.”

Roxas could only stare, the betrayal settling into his bloodstream. Axel, a crap cook? Not so bad, not really. Axel, a  _total fucking liar…_

“So what you’re saying is, all this time I’ve been eating Luxord’s food?”

Axel nodded glumly.

“The laksa? The bouillabaisse? The fucking _nachos?”_

“Those were me,” Axel said weakly. Any other scenario, Roxas might’ve laughed. As it was, the noise in his head was screaming at him to get away, to lash out, to inflict even a skerrick of the pain Roxas was feeling on the person responsible.

“Oh great, so you can at least microwave some cheese without blowing the place up. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Axel’s temper came roaring in. “I tried, okay? I tried so fucking hard. We almost ran out of frypans, for Chrissake! I—” He bit off whatever he’d been about to say and closed his eyes instead. He took a steadying breath, the inhalation making Roxas’ skin prickle, and when he opened them again Roxas was horrified to see moisture collecting in the corners. It shouldn’t have been possible for Axel to be this upset over someone like Roxas. Axel, who aside from when his dog had died, acted so tough, so indestructible. “I should’ve told you ages ago. I should’ve, but then you told me about Mickey Mouse and Times Square and how much you hated liars, and I figured I’d already dug myself a hole so I might as well enjoy whatever time I could get before… before…” More furious tears, each one chipping away at the place behind Roxas’ ribcage.

He couldn’t say how long they sat there like that, surrounded by sugars and starches but he was starting to feel more ridiculous by the second, mocking himself for falling for a deceptive asshole who didn’t know one end of a ladle from the other. Even if there had been anything before, Roxas had ruined it now. Just as he steeled himself to break away, Axel grabbed his sleeves, tugged him close and uttered two words that cracked through his resolve:

“I’m sorry.”

Roxas’ heart quietened. Two simple words but he felt them to his core, and Axel wasn’t giving up. “Look, Rox, I know you’re pissed but what would you have done? Let the most beautiful, stubborn, kind-hearted guy slip through your hands?”

“Stubborn?” Roxas repeated.

Axel choked on something halfway between a sob and a laugh. “That’s the bit you hear?” he said, voice rough but threaded with a kind of hopeless amusement that made something begin tentatively dawning inside Roxas’ chest, and he found himself leaning towards Axel, infinitesimal and brave.

Feather-light fingers brushed Roxas’ face, skimming down along his jaw and up the other side. Axel shifted closer still until he was almost in Roxas’ lap and Roxas could smell the warm spiced pear of Axel’s soap, could see the slight tremor racing beneath Axel’s skin as he cradled the back of Roxas’ head, could _feel_ Axel’s breath ghosting his lips as he lined their mouths up and waited.

Roxas’ own hands balled into fists. In the empty space between one heartbeat and the next, he imagined how much he hated Axel, how much he wanted to bruise his knuckles on the redhead’s cheekbones, to cut his hands on his teeth, to punish Axel for duping him and making him feel like a naïve kid all over again.

His heart thumped and the urge subsided. Instead, Roxas leaned forward and met Axel halfway.

In Roxas’ dreams it was usually some variation on the same scenario: Axel, smirking and bold, shoving him up against a wall or the fridge or the bed, hot hands pushing up Roxas’ shirt and fevering his skin, all dirty talk and teasing. The reality was different, Axel encompassing him in a gentle embrace as he sighed into the kiss, pressing into him, uncaring of the way he was smearing tiramisu all over his t-shirt. Roxas was surprised to find the redhead so pliant, willingly opening up to allow Roxas to slip his tongue inside and do as he pleased. Was this part of the apology, he wondered, then Axel ran his tongue over the cut on Roxas’ lower lip and Roxas shuddered, finding he didn’t care.

After some time they pulled apart. Axel pressed their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, hands resting comfortably on Roxas’ waist, and _there_. There was the sunrise smile Roxas had come to adore.

“So…” Roxas breathed, “If we keep pretending I don’t know, will Lux keep cooking for us?”

Axel laughed, swiping at a blob of cream on the blonde's forehead and licking it up in a way that made Roxas' toes curl.


End file.
